


That's Illegal. People Can't Do That

by winterpillowtalk



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Bread, Harry works it all out, Humor, Liam is so done with everything, Louis Gets arrested, Louis hates the colour green a lot, M/M, Niall wants to go home, Zayn Saves the Day, Zayn also wants to go home, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-09 17:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10417866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterpillowtalk/pseuds/winterpillowtalk
Summary: Louis' rage knew no bounds.





	

Everyone had told Louis that it wasn’t worth it; it would only end up with the law getting involved. But that didn’t stop him – nothing could once he had his mind set on what he had to do. Zayn, Harry, Liam and Niall watched from the sidelines as their band mate marched forward, baguette in hand, towards the unsuspecting shop owner.

Harry glanced at Zayn, a hopeless expression on both of their faces. “This isn’t going to go well,” he muttered, casting his gaze back to Louis, who was now yelling at the poor cashier behind the register.

“Do you think they’ll call the police?” Niall asked, picking at the skin around his thumb nervously.

Louis had been arrested previously, back in 2012 during one of their world tours. Simon – the group’s leading force – had managed to keep the media away, stopping the news getting out to the wider public and the dedicated fans. Although the details were blurry, from what Liam had gathered, it involved Louis’ never-ending rage and a bunch of grapes. He didn’t want to question it further, not wanting to know what caused such anger from the man about the circular fruits. However, it had seemed that he’d moved on now: complex carbohydrates were his new food of choice to express his wrath.

“Maybe,” Zayn replied, sounding humoured. He couldn’t help it; it was hilarious to see Louis go off on another furious rampage to innocent people in train station cafes. “It would be good, though. It could put him in his place – having that kid changed him.”

Harry gasped, covering his mouth with his hands, his eyes narrowing. “How dare you talk badly about Conchobar! He’s only a doll. You’re just jealous because you’ll never have a child of your own,” he spat, anger lacing his tone.

Zayn scoffed, shaking his head. He didn’t need to listen to Harry’s hate. He did have children, although they were unconventional and were worn on feet. He loved his shoes more than anyone in the entire world put together – even more than his prized hair products and jackets. He considered retaliating, but knew it would only deflect from the scene unfolding a couple of metres from them.

They could just about hear Louis’ distinctive voice over the jumbled conversations of the other people walking around them.

“What is _this_?” Louis yelled, swinging the long bread around haphazardly. The woman behind the counter looked terrified, watching the carb cautiously. Harry could see her reach for the phone just beside her, preparing to call for security. “I asked for French bread, and this is a ciabatta shaped like one. Do you think I’m stupid and would fall for this trickery?” He gave the woman a disgusted glare. “Well, I didn’t – unlike many of your unsuspecting customers! I know a lot about bread. I know the King of Bread personally. I’d like to inform you that Paul and I are on good terms.”

Niall was confused. He didn’t know Tommo knew Paul Hollywood – he was certain he would have been told if that meeting had ever taken place. To his left, he saw Liam with an equally as perplexed expression on his face. When they caught each other’s eye, the two men shrugged.

Louis’ lie seemed to have had it desired effect, though. The woman backed away from the desk, nodding slowly as the person in front of her kept on shouting incoherent words in her direction, bread still high above his head as if it was a baton.

“Oh, god. She _is_ going to call the police,” Liam said under his breath, his eyes still focused on Louis. No one went to stop him, they didn’t know how. Once he had started, there was nothing stopping the oldest member of One Direction, especially when he had a weapon. It was unsafe to interfere; all they could do was observe the carnage – and possible arrest of the twenty-five year old.

People in the station had started to notice what was going on outside Upper Crust, slowing their pace down to try and work out exactly what was happening. Harry saw a handful of them taking out their phones, filming some of the one-sided argument emerging. The second-hand embarrassment crashed over him like a wave, he could hardly bare to witness it in person, never mind for months to come all over Twitter and YouTube. He sighed to himself; people were going to hear about this soon, before Simon could stop it getting out. This was going to ruin their tour of all the minor villages in Devon. He was sure the inhabitants of Lynmouth were going to be less than impressed with the man’s most recent outburst.

A high-pitched scream came from the station entrance. Two police officers pushed through the crowd, right towards an oblivious Louis. Before anyone could call out to him, one of the policemen had grabbed the bread in Louis’ hand, breaking it in half and crushing it on the floor. To this, Louis let out a war cry, his fury now directed towards the man holding his right arm.

“My bread!” Louis whined, looking at the broken piece in his hand. He glowered, casting his gaze to the floor to look at the missing part. “How _dare_ you! Who do you think you are to do that? I’m going to call the army.”

“That’s enough,” the second policeman said, taking the handcuffs out from his pocket. They struggled with Louis’ thin arms for a fraction of a second, easily putting the cuffs around his wrists and restraining him. Louis let out a dying noise, making Niall bite his lip to hold back a laugh.

“Simon is going to be so mad,” Harry said, trying his best to conceal a smile as he watched Louis being dragged out of Euston Station. “But we should follow, just in case.”

Everyone agreed, albeit a little less enthusiastically as Harry. They trailed out of the building, giving passing people apologetic looks, hoping that they wouldn’t hold the rest of the band accountable for 1/5th of their group’s behaviour.

Sometimes they considered kicking Louis out, but knew it would only be detrimental to their success. All they had to do was duck their heads and suffer for a while, it would eventually blow over and be forgotten.

***

Louis was pushed into a cell, quickly followed by an ugly green jumpsuit. Green wasn’t his colour, he was angry. Why couldn’t it have been a red, or even a nice blue? He refused to put it on, telling the officer on duty that it would wash his skin out. It was apparent that the woman behind the desk couldn’t care less about his fashion crisis, only pointing to another pair of prison workers to direct him to where he would be staying for a while.

“This is unfair,” Louis complained, taking off his shoes and putting them to the side. He looked down at the leaf coloured monstrosity on the plastic-covered mattress in pure disgust. “I requested for them to change the shade of green, no one looks good in PMS #354. No one!” The guard ignored him, her eyes fixed on the computer screen as she typed – probably recording everything Louis was saying. He shut up, grabbing the ugly material from the bed and slipping it over his clothes. He knew he was meant to change into it completely and then hand over his original outfit to someone so they could take away the small amount of pride he still had attached to his name. However, he wasn’t just anyone – he was Louis Tomlinson, one of the members of One Direction, and personal friend of Paul John Hollywood. If he wanted to keep his jeans, he could.

Heavy footsteps approached his cell. Louis felt his stomach turn; he didn’t want to go on death row. It was too soon, he had yet to go to court to defend himself. He didn’t want to die, it didn’t seem fun – he still had to eat every different type of bread on Earth. He had only managed thirty-nine different ones; there were still thousands he hadn’t been able to consume. Maybe his last meal could be a basket of the remaining yeasty goods and a tub of Waitrose hummus to wash it all down.

Perhaps dying wouldn’t be _that_ bad, he thought to himself as he imagined himself eating his way through fifty tonnes of carbohydrates.

“Tomlinson,” a voice called from outside, catching his attention.

Louis stood up, brushing some of the creases out of the jade eyesore. He wanted to look as presentable as possible when he met his demise, he couldn’t be known as the Ugly One Direction Member when he was gone. No, he was going to be beautiful – the most beautiful being on the planet for the remaining hours he had left in his mortal life. “I’m ready,” Louis called, keeping the excitement from his voice. “I would like apan, bialy, lefse, ka’ak and pandesal for my final meal please, alongside some of the smoked hummus from Waitrose. Oh, and a bottle of water, too.”

There was a pause, much to Louis’ annoyance. He didn’t think his request was that outrageous, he had seen numerous amounts of extreme and complicated last meals on the internet as he scrolled through websites. His, in the grand scheme of things, was very straightforward – almost too straightforward.

But, before he could add more bread to his list, the person spoke up again. “What are you talking about? Why are you naming breads? We need to fill out forms, not feed you. Get up, move.” The guard gave Louis a bored look through the peephole, expecting the man to jump up from the stool they had provided for him in the cell. “And put the uniform on while you’re up. Everyone has to wear it; you’re no one special here.”

Louis saw his starchy dreams die before his eyes. Heavy disappointment rested in the pit of his stomach, he had began to imagine himself feasting on a platter of bread and chickpea paste, enjoying every moment of it. Somehow, he had been able to convince himself that perishing after eating it all wouldn’t have been such a bad thing, he would have managed to achieve his goal of consuming the most bread possible, and that was all he was living for. Normal people would have said they were living for family, or a career – but not Louis. He was only alive for carbohydrates: his true love.

He wasn’t suicidal, though. Louis didn’t crave the sweet release of death, but he knew that his life wouldn’t have been able to get any better than it would have been after his final meal – there would be no point going on once he had peaked at life.

And as for One Direction, they could easily find someone to fill his space. It wouldn’t be difficult; thousands of people would throw themselves at the chance to be part of one of the most successful groups in modern history.

Conchobar could live on his own, too. The boy would adapt quickly, that’s what Louis loved most about the hunk of plastic which he called his son.

Everything had settled in his mind, and nothing could flaw it. However, his dream had been quashed at the very start – not even giving them enough time to grow into a fully-formed fantasy.

“Hurry up,” came the voice of the guard, knocking repeatedly on the metal door.

“Fine,” Louis huffed, untying one of his shoes and putting it to the side. If he was going to have to wear the vomit coloured atrocity, he was going to take his time forcing his body into it. Besides, if he was moving, they couldn’t yell at him for not bothering.

***

Harry was the first one through the police station doors, quickly followed by his less eager band mates. The three of them looked exhausted – both mentally and physically. Their day had meant to be a relaxing one, moving from one part of London to the next, but Louis’ anger had to make their plan take a complete U-turn before midday. Harry understood why Zayn, Liam and Niall weren’t the happiest at that moment, but he would have appreciated it if they could at least fake concern for their friend.

There was an elderly woman sitting behind the reception desk. Harry made his way to it, tapping his fingertips on the surface to catch the woman’s attention. When she didn’t look up, he tried again, this time clearing his throat at subtly as he could. This was given then same treatment as his first try, making the younger man roll his eyes. He couldn’t believe it, he thought receptionists were meant to be observant, anything could be happening and she would have missed it all. He considered breaking something to get her focus on him, but decided against it when he realised that it would probably result in him being imprisoned for being a nuisance.

“Just talk!” Niall called from the waiting area the three other men had occupied. Harry looked behind him, snorting out a laugh when he saw Zayn reading a child’s book with a jolly-looking telephone on the front cover.

Harry took Niall’s suggestion, clearing his throat for the second time. “Hello,” he said, using his politest voice he could muster. “I’m here to ask about someone who has just been taken into custardy.”

The old woman didn’t reply. In fact, she didn’t respond at all. Harry turned back to face Niall, shrugging. When none of his other friends gave him any other ideas, he went back to speaking, guessing it would be better than hovering over the aged receptionist.

“His name is Louis Tomlinson. I’m not sure what they would have called his cause of arrest, but he should be pretty easy to find in your database. He has been arrested before, back in July 2012, if you have that documented.”

A door just behind the woman opened, showing a flustered looking man. His blond hair fell over his face, covering his brown eyes. “Meggy!” he shouted, his Australian accent taking Harry by surprise. “I told you not to go on the computer.”

The woman – Meggy – looked up, visibly confused at being accosted. She clicked a few things on the screen; presumably closing the tabs she had open.

Harry watched the two people silently arguing through a number of looks and hand movements, both ignoring his existence as he observed the scene. He didn’t know what to do or say to break them up; he still needed to know where they were holding Louis captive.

“Where’s Louis Tomlinson?” he asked, deciding to get straight to the point now, he had been courteous for long enough. His patience was wearing thin.

The new man held his hand up, silencing Harry. He groaned, not liking how long it was taking him to get answers. He didn’t expect it to go this way, the last time he was here; they had gotten their information fast enough, and got Louis out of the building within that hour. It was becoming increasingly obvious that it wasn’t going to be the same this time, there were added complications this time around – namely Meggy.

The woman was pushed into the office area, the door locked behind her. Harry’s eyes followed the blond man as he walked back to the seat in front of the computer. He let out an exasperated sigh when his saw what the woman was looking at. “I told you to keep an eye on her, Arnold! Now I have to clear the history again. We don’t want Management thinking we’re looking for BDSM gear and antelope.”

Harry heard Liam choke on air as he overheard what the man behind the desk said. He glanced over his shoulder, glaring back at Niall and Liam, who were now in fits of silent laughter, Zayn, much like before, was still too engrossed in his toddler novel.

“How can I help you?” the man asked, looking up from the screen.

 _Finally_ , Harry thought to himself. He was getting ready to spend the night at the station, waiting for someone to realise he was there. “I’m here for Louis Tomlinson,” he said, leaning against the wooden surface, gazing down at the police offer typing quickly.

“What was he taken in for?” he asked, not catching Harry’s intense stare.

He didn’t know what Louis’ arrest could have been classified as. Harassment? Intimidation? Stupidity? He wasn’t sure. He ended up simply shrugging, opting for the silent approach – he didn’t want to sound like an idiot in front of an authority figure.

“He nearly hit a girl with a loaf of bread,” Niall supplied from the other end of the room. To everyone’s surprise, the man’s lips didn’t move – not even a tiny smile spread across them. Harry thought this was weird, anyone would think that something so stupid would cause someone to grin. Maybe the man in front of his wasn’t human – he had read things on Buzzfeed that Australians were robots walking among them. At the time, he thought the accusations were ridiculous – how was it possible that someone could write-off a whole country as a land of humanoid creatures? However, he now had compelling evidence before him to prove their theories.

A loud bang came from the room where Meggy had been shoved into. Everyone in the vicinity cautiously eyed where the sound had came from, waiting for something – anything – to happen. It felt like hours had gone past by the time the blond rolled back on the chair, turning around and marching into the adjacent room.

Harry listened closely; far too curious about what was going on out of their sight. He could just about make out a couple of words coming from the two men and woman behind the door.

“I couldn’t do anything about it!” came one voice, higher than the man Harry had seen before. “I tried to stop her, but she pushed me over, Josh.”

A humourless laugh was heard after the other man’s piece. “You know you need to keep her away from Amazon, especially when your details are saved onto it.” Harry presumed that this was Josh speaking, not sounding happy at all.

The dispute continued for longer than Harry cared to time, the only thing he wanted to know was where they were holding Louis and how long it would take for him to become a free man once again. They needed to reschedule trains and meeting points, as well as tell Simon about the latest Louis Situation. Harry knew that no one wanted to contact their manager – the last time this had happened, Simon had gone on an hour-long rant about how they were all irresponsible and needed to grow up. Knowing his luck, he could tell that he was going to become the designated caller, being the one who heard the most of Mr. Cowell’s anger.

The door slammed open, showing Josh looking even more annoyed than five minutes before. He didn’t apologise to Harry for the interruption. He silently went back to typing, scrolling down a list on the screen. “Tomlinson?” he asked, his voice monotone. Harry nodded, feeling that it wouldn’t be appropriate to speak. “He’s still being charged; he had some papers to fill out. I’ll call you when he’s ready to be seen.”

“Do you have any idea how long that’ll be?” Harry questioned slowly, pulling at the loose nail on his index finger. Josh made a noncommittal noise, not answering the question. Harry thought about pushing his query, but could sense that the police officer was in no mood to be harassed. Instead of pressing him, Harry went back to sit with Zayn, Niall and Liam in the waiting room, giving the three of them a defeated eye roll.

When Harry reached the uninspiring plastic chairs, Zayn looked overwhelmed, his eyes unfocused and tearful. Harry narrowed his eyes, gesturing to the person beside him, not knowing the cause of the twenty-four year olds drastic mood change.

“He finished it,” Liam said, pointing to the ten paged book on the floor.

A single tear ran down Zayn’s cheek. “It was so sad,” he whispered. “The phone...” his voice broke as the tears started to fall faster. Harry, deciding that he has bigger issues than Zayn’s uncontrollable sobs, went back to their main point: Louis.

“We need a plan,” Harry spoke, a serious tone lacing his voice. Liam and Niall turned to face him, their concentration solely on their friend. It was clear that whatever Harry was thinking of could be hard – maybe too hard for them to do on their own. However, they didn’t have any other option. Calling Simon to fix it was totally out of the question now. They were stuck in the situation Louis’ had created, whether they liked it or not. “It involves Zayn, too. So, listen closely.”

Zayn let out a watery sigh, also focusing his attention on brown haired boy. He nodded once, showing that he, too, was now following what Harry was saying, despite the heartbreak caused from the final page of _Tony the Lonely Telephone_. He didn’t know why Tony had to be so isolated just because he had to be attached to the wall; no one deserved to be treated like that.

Harry looked towards the main desk, double checking that the staff weren’t eavesdropping into their plan. Taking a deep breath, he began to whisper the instructions. “Liam, you need to distract Josh, Arnold and maybe Meggy. Do whatever you have to – only if its legal, we don’t want to go through _this_ again.”

Liam made an affirmative noise, furrowing his eyebrows together in concentration as he attempted to pick a distraction technique.

Harry turned to Niall, clearing his throat what he realised that Irish man’s attention had been diverted by a flock of sea gulls soaring by the window. It took a handful of seconds before Niall looked away from the outside world, a bored expression on his face. “You need to help Liam, as well as being a lookout. Zayn and I will sneak back to the holding cells to get Louis. Got it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Niall said, not seeming the most enthusiastic about their quest.

Harry, a little irritated at the man’s lack of interest, finally turned to face Zayn. He noticed that the man was still overemotional about the book, causing Harry to question the detrimental impacts the story had on the children it was aimed at. He reminded himself to Google the title, just to check if anyone else had kids as affected as his bandmate.

“You need to come with me, Zayn. We’ll be the ones getting Louis out of this place – we need to utilise your high notes.”

Liam snorted out a laugh, giving Harry an unbelieving glance. “What? Will he hit a high note and then the bars will break open?”

Harry, not finding it as humours as his three friends, nodded. He didn’t see why it seemed to sound so ridiculous to them. The voice could crack glass if the pitch was high enough, he didn’t see any reason to why it couldn’t warp metal. Besides, they had Zayn Malik – his voice was incredible.

Niall suddenly stood up from the chair he was occupying, pulling on Liam’s arm to get him to follow. It was a wordless order: the getaway was about to begin.

***

It turned out that Liam was the master of distraction. He managed to get the two police officers on duty to follow him far from the back door leading to the cells. It was almost too straightforward, but Harry didn’t want to question it – he was happier having their plan happened without fault than coming across various bumps in the road.

Zayn and Harry quickly made their way down the corridors, nodding politely at a guard standing near one of the cells. The man didn’t raise an eyebrow at the twenty year olds marching down the hall, much to both of the men’s delight and slight confusion.

“Where would he be?” Zayn asked, keeping in step with Harry. They had been walking aimlessly for five minutes, checking every door they past to no avail.

Harry stopped in his tracks, listening for something – or someone. A small smile spread across his lips when he heard Louis’ voice echo from somewhere in the building. “We’re close,” Harry assured him, gesturing further down the passage. “I can hear him complaining about the colour of the jumpsuit they make everyone wear here.”

Zayn shook his head, not wanting to believe that the colour scheme was the one thing Louis would whine about in his circumstance, but he expected nothing less from the oldest member. In spite of what everyone seemed to believe, Louis was the highest maintenance out of the five of them. Zayn had yet to meet anyone else would go on an hour-long rant about how the certain shade of red washed his skin out on _Midnight Memories_ , regardless of the fact the picture of the group they decided to adorn the album cover was in greyscale.

The two of them hurried down the passageway, following Louis’ angered voice.

It was no surprise to them when they turned the corner to face Louis yelling at a fed up looking policeman from behind the prison bars. Neither of them had any idea how long the unsuspecting employee had to have been subjected to the other man’s whining, but by the expression on his face, it was clear that he was going to lose his patience at any moment.

Harry nudged Zayn, directing his attention to the small desk area shoved to one side of the hall. Wordlessly, they thought up their plan, giving Zayn enough time to use his voice to crack the metal and get their captive friend free. The conversation (made up of different eyebrow movements and hand gestures) only lasted ninety seconds.

They parted way silently as Zayn found a suitable place to hide. Harry tiptoed towards the desk, purposefully knocking over one of the pencils onto the floor. The sound of wood hitting solid concrete reverberated off the surrounding walls, catching the attention of the police officer. “Oops,” Harry said, faking shock at his actions.

“Who are you?” the officer snapped, glowering at Harry.

Harry cleared his throat. “I’m lost,” he said, avoiding answering the question. “I was wondering if you could show me where the exit is.”

No one could miss the relived sigh made by the man in uniform. He guessed that the man couldn’t wait to get away from Louis’ incessant speaking. He probably had to suffer through a good two hours of it; Harry knew that it would quickly drive anyone insane if they weren’t immune to it like One Direction had become over the years.

“Come on,” the man said, signally for Harry to follow him in the opposite direction from Louis. “I need a break from this guy – he won’t shut up about green and breads.”

Harry forced himself to laugh at the man’s comment. “Thank you for helping me...” he trailed off, waiting for the man to supply him with his name.

“Officer Nate Millstone,” the man – Nate – said, still walking at a steady pace down the hall. Harry gave a small nod, followed by a weak smile. He hoped that this would give Zayn enough time to finish what he had to do.

***

Zayn was the only one left in the deserted corridor. It was eerie and cold – everything he expected from a British prison. He let out a long sigh, stepping out from his impromptu hiding spot.

“Why do you do this?” he said aloud, speaking to Louis. “Can you manage to go one day without threatening innocent members of the public with items of food? It’s getting old now; you could at least make it more interesting for us. Perhaps you should expand to something more advance. Liam suggested ‘80s memorabilia – something more fun, he said.”

Louis’ ranting came to a sudden end as he recognised the other man’s voice. “Zayn?” he said, sounding cautious.

“Of course it’s me. Who else would come and save you? I did it last time, didn’t I?” When Louis didn’t reply, Zayn turned the corner to be able to see the man behind the bars. “You’re going to have to stand back, I have an idea.”

Louis looked confused, looking around the space to see if Zayn had brought any equipment with him. When he saw nothing, he raised a doubtful eyebrow. “You better not be joking, Zayn. They’re going to force me into this pea coloured travesty by tomorrow morning. You can’t let this happen to me, it’ll ruin my life.” Despite his doubts, he did what he was told and stood back as far as he could manage, squashing himself up against the freezing exposed concrete bricks.

Zayn waved his hand, ignoring everything the older of the two had to say. He didn’t care about Louis’ fashion dilemmas, all he cared about was making sure his voice would reach the right pitch to cause weaknesses in the metal – the last thing he wanted to happen was to get unwanted attention from their least favourite fans.

He coughed a couple of times, and did a few warm-up techniques they had been shown by one of Simon’s best voice trainers. He could see Louis watching on, unsure what was about to happen next. “I’m going to need you to give me a backing track or something to work with,” Zayn requested.

“Liam could’ve done that if he was here – he is the master of this,” Louis complained, not wanting to put the effort in.

Zayn looked at the other man, tilting his head to the side in annoyance. “If you wanted to get out of here, you’d hum me something right now. Can you do _You & I_? I feel like that’s the easiest one.”

Louis shrugged. “Probably.” There was a moment of silence before Louis started to hum the recognisable tune. In Zayn’s head, he went over everyone’s part, making sure he was ready for his big part. He had done this song thousands of times before, hitting the note perfectly without fail every time. But this time it felt different – this time he had more responsibility. Louis’ freedom was in his hands – or, in his voice.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air as his part approached rapidly. He was going to do it – he had to, there wasn’t another option.

“’Cause you and I,” he sang, putting all his effort into the highest note he could possibly muster.

A deafening _crack_ followed by a cloud of dust appearing came from the far said of the room, making Zayn leap back in surprise. Although he never questioned Harry’s scheme, he never would have believe it would have been so successful.

“Louis?” Zayn called, walking towards the cloud of dust. He tried to fan some of it away, making it easier for him to navigate around the shards of metal scattered on the ground, and around to the newly opened cell.

Louis was sat on the stood they had given him, looking back at Zayn in pure shock. “Well,” he spoke slowly, not too sure what else to say. “I didn’t think that was going to work.” Zayn shrugged, trying to prevent a smug grin. “But I don’t get why you couldn’t have used the keys in the desk over there. They’re in second drawer down.”

Zayn stilled, blinking slowly as the new information processed in his brain. “What?” he said, not wanting to believe what he had just been told.

“I’m kidding,” Louis laughed, shaking his head at his friend’s obvious distress. He leaped out of the cell, over the metal and stood to the left of Zayn. “Where are Niall, Liam and Harry? I’m sure I heard Styles with you.”

Zayn pushed Louis, refusing to answer his question. Instead, he marched forward, not bothering to check whether the older man was following him. At this point, he couldn’t care less about Louis. It had been a long day, and it was all bread wheedling man’s fault. Louis could get lost on the way to the escape route and Zayn wouldn’t go back for him.

He wanted to go home.

It was apparent that Louis wasn’t going to drop his question any time soon. As they hastily strolled down the corridor, endless pestering came from him.

Zayn felt his tolerance wear thin by the time they had reached the fire door at the far end of the building. He pushed the handle down, fully expecting an alarm to go off throughout the premises. He cringed, waiting for the ear-splitting beeping noise to spread through the vicinity.

But nothing happened.

“Oh.”

Louis side-eyed him, not getting why the twenty-four year old was so relieved at opening a door. He didn’t dwell on the thought for much longer, pushing past Zayn and into the cold air. He had never been so happy to see the ugly back streets of London before, overflowing bins and all. To him, they were stunning – one of the hidden beauties of the capital. Who needed to see the architecture of the Natural History Museum when you could admire the black bags shoved outside Pizza Express instead?

“Tommo!” Niall shouted, rushing towards him and pulling him into a tight hug. “Why did you have to assault that girl with bread?”

“It was the wrong kind, she was misleading the public. It was my duty,” he replied in a nonchalant voice. Niall shook his head, not bothering to conceal a reassured smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

No one fought Louis on his reasoning, mainly because they didn’t care about bread like he did. They had heard the bread lecture multiple times before when Liam misnamed a loaf Louis had brought back from the bakery Harry used to work in. Niall was just glad that Louis was no longer in the depressing building.

Liam was the next to arrive, saving Louis from the Irish man’s bone crushing embrace. They exchanged a few words, nothing too in depth, as they waited for Harry to come around from the front. He had told Zayn that he wouldn’t be too much longer, probably no more than ten extra minutes after Louis’ release.

The four of them waited for their final member.

Louis took the extra time to go over what he had been through, ensuring that he didn’t leave out the colour scheme – Zayn was certain he wasn’t going to drop the topic any time soon, much to his horror. Instead of listening to a step-by-step recount of his own heroism, he zoned out, looking up at the dark clouds above the alleyway they were occupying. He hoped it didn’t rain; he hadn’t brought a coat and had worked hard on his hair that morning. He wanted to keep it as neat as possible, regardless of the dust which now covered it.

It felt like hours before Harry turned the corner, greeting them all with a cheery ‘hello’. Everyone waved at him, smiling back. Zayn eyed the object in his hand as Harry got closer to them. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing down at the unidentified object in the other man’s hand.

Without a word, Harry handed it to Zayn. It took him a nanosecond to work out what was given to him. Zayn gasped, feeling his throat tighten at the sight of the familiar cover. “You didn’t,” he said, putting his free hand over his mouth in shock. “ _Tony the Lonely Telephone_ ,” he read aloud, turning the book over in his hands a couple of times, checking it was real.

“You seemed to like it a lot, so I took it,” Harry explained, sounding indifferent. Zayn didn’t know where to begin; he’d never been given anything so thoughtful before, he was sure he was going to never see his new favourite story again. But, now, it was his forever – no one could make him part from Tony again.

“This is all very sweet,” Liam said, breaking the silence. “But now we have a fugitive and stolen property from the police. Standing behind the station isn’t the best place we could be right now.”

“Plus, it’s about to pour down and we need to work out who’s going to call Simon. I vote for Louis, since he got us into this mess,” Niall chimed in, walking towards the road going past their hiding place.

Louis was about to refuse, but backed down when he saw the expression on Harry’s face. He knew better than to argue with the man when he gave him that look, they had known each other long enough to work out that it was a sure sign that he wasn’t going to get his way – no matter how lengthy the debate would be.

“Come on,” Harry spoke. “We should get going – follow Niall.”

Liam eagerly followed the blond, not wanting to be there for longer than he needed to. He never wanted to see a police station again, not after the day they’d all had. Granted, they would have to cuff Louis to one of them whenever they went anywhere, but it would be better than risking him being imprisoned for the third time. He wasn’t too sure how long their label would want to keep them around if news got out that Louis merely poked a shop keeper with a packet of crisps because the potatoes weren’t the correct ones – or something equally as stupid.

He sighed; it would definitely be a good story to tell Conchobar when they were reunited with Louis’ much-loved baby doll.


End file.
